Spectator Sport
by Verdreht
Summary: Becker never stopped loving Connor while he was lost in the Cretaceous. Only, now that he's back, can Becker find a way to let him know before he loses him again, maybe in more ways than one? Becker/Connor SLASH Troodons and pubs and hurt!Connor, oh my!
1. Chapter 1

Becker couldn't count the number of times over the past year he'd stood in the back of the Hub, leaning over the rail and staring at the seat at the Anomaly Detection device. He couldn't count the number of times he'd looked at that chair and imagined seeing something in it…thin shoulders, black hair he knew from experience to be impossibly soft, maybe even a fedora…

He couldn't count the number of times he'd blinked, only to open his eyes and realize _he wasn't there_. There were no lithe shoulders for him to sneak up behind and slip his arms around, no black hair to card his fingers through, no fedora to tip down over those rich brown eyes to win himself one of those charming little smiles.

None of that, only…Jess.

Don't get him wrong; he had no problem with Jessica. It was just seeing her in _his_ place, in Connor's place, and being painfully reminded each time that he was _gone_. A part of him hated her for that.

And now, a month after Connor'd found his way back, Becker could still hardly bring himself to blink. That was Connor sitting there in that chair, where he was supposed to be. He knew logically that he was there for real, that it wasn't in his imagination, but…there was still this part of him that was afraid that if he let Connor out of his sight, he might disappear again.

"Careful, mate." A voice that Becker knew, without looking, to belong to Matt sounded beside him, loud enough to be heard by Becker but soft enough that it wouldn't reach certain _people_ in the front of the room. "Staring at him like that. Someone might think you fancy him or something."

Becker flashed him a glare before resuming his vigil. He knew that teasing in his friend's voice, and he knew that Matt knew exactly why he was "staring at him like that." He'd made the mistake of letting loose at a pub with him one time; too many beers loosed his tongue, and he'd drunkenly confided in Matt that he didn't just _fancy_ the then-missing young man.

He loved him.

Then he lost him.

He'd gotten drunk a lot those first few months.

Of course, this last month hadn't exactly been sober, either. With Connor back, he'd been slapped in the face with the fact that his feelings were just as strong as before. He hadn't felt so _right_ in so long as he did when he first pulled Connor into his arms when he came through that anomaly. The feelings were there.

The only problem was, he had no idea what to do with them. There was no telling what sort of psychological effects getting trapped in the Cretaceous period could have on a person – it wasn't like Freud had ever had a chance to take a crack at it – and Becker wasn't sure how Connor felt anymore. Did he still feel the same as he had before? What if he'd changed? It seemed naïve to think he wouldn't have…he would've had to, to survive that long.

Becker just had to figure out how much and what parts.

"This isn't a spectator sport, mate. You can't just watch him from the sidelines and expect to get anywhere."

"And what would you have me do instead?" The words came out harsher than he'd meant them to; his nerves were a little raw, and Matt's cavalier attitude about this whole mess was getting on the last of them. His constant meddling…he acted like this was so simple. Like there was nothing to think about, to figure out.

In the face of Becker's terseness, Matt just shrugged. "Have ye tried talking to him, even?"

"And saying what? 'Oi, Connor, I know your year with the dinosaurs trying to eat you probably put you a little out of sorts, but I was wondering if we could just pick things up where we left off.'?"

"It'd be a start," Matt said without missing a beat. "Better than whatever you're doing now, at any rate, watching him like a bloody voyeur or something."

Becker scowled. In all fairness, he knew it was odd, just watching him like this, but he couldn't help it. Seeing Connor back, seeing him alive and, for the most part, well…he couldn't take this for granted ever again.

"You don't understand," he said, and even to his own ears, he sounded utterly miserable. Resigned.

Beside him, Matt let out a sigh. "You're right mate, I don't. But I do know a little something about over-thinking…just don't let it get in the way of doing something that'll make ye happy, yeah?"

He seemed to think he'd said all he needed to say after that, because with a small smile, he clapped Becker on the shoulder and walked away.

Becker so hated when he did that.

The worst of it was…he wasn't wrong. Self-satisfied, smug, _Scottish_ as he was, he wasn't wrong, and that _killed_ Becker.

It was settled, then: he needed to do something. He just didn't know what. Give him a rampaging mammoth, give him an army of man-eating t-rexes, and he'd know exactly what to do. But when it came to matters of the heart…

He was hopeless.

He was saved from another stint of self-loathing – it had kept him and his hangovers company the past year while he'd buried himself in work – by the sound of alarms and red flashing lights.

Christ, he knew his life was fucked when he was actually _relieved_ about an anomaly.

Shoving aside all the madness in his head, Becker grabbed his vest from where he'd draped it over the rail and shrugged it on as he jogged over to the main computer. As soon as he finished zipping up his vest, he leaned over the desk, bracing one hand on the desk beside the keyboard and the other on Connor's shoulder.

It seemed even a year couldn't break some habits.

Connor jumped at the sudden contact; he'd been doing it a lot since he got back. Becker chose to take it as a good sign, though, when he felt the tension beneath his fingers relax, and Connor launched right into his usual high-speed run down.

"Got a signal down at the pub on Third. Already got people phoning it in, but so far nothing definite. I can't tell you what it is."

He actually sounded genuinely sorry.

Becker gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're fine," he said, and then he straightened up. Time to start giving orders.

As Becker moved back, Connor spun around in his chair. "How do you do that?"

Becker stopped short in his strategizing to raise an eyebrow at Connor's odd question. He didn't understand.

"Gettin' here so fast," Connor said. "Like you're reading me mind."

"Or reading over your shoulder…."

Becker turned another glare Matt's direction, and Matt shrugged innocently. Things were getting off track; he needed to focus.

And, if at all possible, stop blushing like a fool, too.

"Jess, what's the damage? Casualties?"

Jess didn't so much as look away from the wall of monitors she was sitting in front of, and her fingers kept clacking away. "None so far, but two injured, on their way to the hospital."

Becker nodded. None dead yet; that was good. It was his job now to make sure that didn't change for the worse.

"Matt, you're with me."

Matt nodded, but as they started to leave, Connor opened his mouth to protest.

Becker beat him to it. "Connor, you're staying behind."

"But—I can handle it, Becker. I'm cleared for the field, remember?"

"I remember," Becker said. Of course he remembered. "The pub's small. Too many people, and we'll just be stepping on each other's toes."

It was logical. If there were too many of them, it would be chaos, and someone would get hurt. That said, Connor looked so...depressed. Becker knew how much he wanted to be in he field, and he wasn't keeping him out because he didn't think he could handle it. He respected Connor too much for that.

"But—"

Becker held up a hand and cut him off. "Next time, Connor. I promise."

At first, Connor didn't seem to care, but then he subsided. A little bit of the pout eased out of his puppy dog eyes. "Promise?"

"So long as it's not in a broom closet, I think we can work something out," he said, and then favoured Connor with a wink and a small smile.

In return, Connor gave him a grin that Becker thought should be weaponised. Fuck Matt's guns; Connor's smile could knock any dinosaur on its ass ten times over and stupefy it to boot.

Jess's voice snapped him from his stunned silence. "Be careful," she said.

He nodded. "Of course."

"We'll be back before you know it," Matt said.

Or, at least, that had been the plan.


	2. Chapter 2

Unfortunately, as Becker and Matt soon found out, things rarely went as planned.

They'd gotten in alright. ARC teams had already blocked off the street and evacuated everyone within a couple blocks. Probably spun some shit about a gas leak or something; that wasn't Becker's concern.

What was his concern was the anomaly that had opened, according to the portable anomaly detection device, somewhere right beneath where he and Matt were standing in the pub.

They had made it inside the pub, and Becker's guys had closed the door behind them. The initial reports were one creature, unknown species, but that it wasn't on the main floor. Why, Becker had no idea; the twats had left all the doors wide open inside. They'd have had free reign.

"You think maybe they need a refresher on 'containment'?" Matt said.

Opting to ignore the comment altogether, Becker made his way carefully into the pub. The lights were still on, and sunlight still wept through the curtains and barred windows, so it wasn't hard to see his way around the stacked tables and chairs.

The bar wasn't too big. Two rooms total, not counting the toilets: one to house the pool and foosball tables, and the main one to house the actual bar.

There was less light in the latter, which was where they were heading. There were less windows, and broken glass on the floor showed that a few lights had been lost in whatever madness had gone on in there.

When Becker reached the door behind the bar, he paused and looked at Matt. He was the one with the detector, so it stood to reason he'd be the one to know where they were going.

"Looks right," Matt said quietly. They weren't exactly being silent, the wood being old and creaky as it was, but they were at least trying not to make too much of a racket. Becker generally liked to keep it so that the things they were there to find didn't know that they were there to find them.

It wasn't that Becker doubted Matt, but he did believe in being sure, so he adjusted his earpiece and said, "You there, Jess? Any confirmation on the anomaly's location?"

_"The stairs are just behind that door."_ Jess's voice came clearly through the earpieces. _"The anomaly should be down and in the room to your right. Anything on the creature?"_

"No visuals yet," Matt said, "but we'll keep our eyes peeled." He nodded to Becker who, with his gun at the ready, pushed the door open.

Pause.

Sweep.

Double sweep.

Nothing but a couple kegs, a frat party's worth of broken bottles on the floor, and a staircase leading down a level.

Becker moved forward carefully all the same, until he reached the top of the stairs. When he got there, he went to flick on the light.

Flick.

Flick.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Becker frowned. "Lights are dead."

Matt mirrored his expression.

_"Is everything alright, guys?"_ This time, the voice was Connor's.

"We're all good here, just some tripped wires," matt said. He shot Becker a look, and together, they proceeded down the stairs. Their torches cut through the dark well enough to see by, and step by cautious step, they descended.

Becker didn't like this. Something about it just didn't sit right with him, and each step forward seemed like a noose tightening around his neck. A basement with one exit only? If this wasn't a trap, he didn't know what was.

A creak sounded behind him, so loud against the surrounding silence that it might as well have been a gunshot.

"Sorry," Matt said, gingerly lifting his foot off the wooden stair.

Rolling his eyes, Becker turned his eyes forward and stepped off the last stair.

Pause.

Sweep.

Double sweep.

Nothi—

"Oi," Matt said from behind him. There was something in his voice that made Becker's hairs stand on end and his finger curl around the trigger of his gun. "What d'you suppose those are there?"

Becker followed the direction of Matt's pointed finger with his eye, doing his best to move as little as possible. At first, he couldn't tell what he was supposed to be looking at…and then he could. He saw it.

Them.

Lights. Small, round lights about two, three feet off the ground. He counted four, maybe six of them. His torch was aimed higher, and so slowly, deliberately, he lowered his gun.

He realized then what the lights were: they were eyes. Three pairs for three creatures that were about level with his knee and looked a little like raptors. At first, they didn't look all that impressive. Not after some of the things he'd seen.

But then his torchlight fell on three bodies that told a different story. Their abdomens were split open, their ribs broken and jutting out of the cavities like candles on some sort of grotesque birthday cake.

That was it – he was never eating birthday cake again.

There was gore all over the floor; a crimson puddle was steadily stretching towards his boots, and he eased his foot back. He was no stranger to blood, but that didn't mean he was keen on sliding through it. Besides, if he needed to make a quick get away, he'd do better if he wasn't slipping on bodily fluids.

Also marking ice skating off the list of things to do.

As Becker took in the sight before him, a clicking noise began to rise in the small room. Shrill, stark, it cut through the silence almost worse than the old creaky stair had moments before. It was eerie, and it took Becker longer than he would like to admit to realize what they were.

They were calls. The clicking sounds, the screeching scratching noises that felt like nails digging into his ear drums…that was these creatures' call.

Coupled with their cat like eyes, glowing in the minimal light in the otherwise dark room, and what these creatures lacked in physical impressiveness, they made up for in sheer haunting creepiness. Like the little kids in horror films that are somehow worlds creepier than the seven foot chainsaw murderer.

"Plan?" Mat said from behind him.

"Upstairs."

"Problem."

Becker chanced a quick glance over his shoulder and saw what Matt was talking about. More eyes. More creatures coming around from behind them. They were rounding in front of the stairs, effectively cutting off their escape route, and as Matt and Becker stood back to back, they started to move in.

And then they struck. Impossibly fast, teeth shining red and white, eyes flashing, they launched at them.

Becker had been right; this was a trap.

He wasn't _entirely_ sure how he ended up in the walk-in cupboard with Matt a few minutes later, panting and trying to hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his chest. He knew it involved a lot of shooting and sprinting.

There was also no telling how many of those creepy little buggers he'd managed to shoot, either, but judging by the furious clicking outside the door, he knew he hadn't gotten enough. There were still some out there, and they _really_ wanted in.

"Well, fuck," Matt said.

Becker just slammed his fist against the wall. Trapped like rats – he should've known better. He _had_ known better, and he'd walked straight into it anyway.

Christ.

_"Becker—Matt? Every—okay?" _Jess's voice crackled through the comm..

"We're okay for now," Matt said. "Hey, Jess, you're breaking up."

_"Maybe the anom—interfering with the rad—signal?"_

_"Or might—cause they're—basement."_

Becker never thought he'd hear Connor being the voice of reason, but he had to say he appreciated it.

"Alright, so it looks like we're trapped in some sort of storage closet. Lots of booze and cleaning supplies," Matt said.

_"Trapped? Did you get—creature?"_

The whole "fill in the blanks" thing was starting to get old, but Becker figured he was pretty good at it.

"I dunno the exact species," Matt said. "Probably suborder theropod, troodontidae family. If I had to wager a—"

This time, it wasn't radio interference cutting someone off, but Becker holding up his hand. "Two feet tall, look like raptors, only smaller, eyes reflect light like a cat, make this weird screeching sort of click. Look to be carnivorous – we have three bodies here that I've counted."

_"I'll—Connor look int—Connor!"_

There was something at the end; she was calling for Connor, not talking to him.

"What happened?" Becker said.

_"I don't—Connor just—and ran out—ARC."_

"He just left?" That was Becker's best go at interpreting the spotty signal.

_"He looked upset. Said—when he was—Cretaceous. Then he—out."_

"Shit." That was just what Becker needed – something else to worry about. Because the little dinosaurs after his flesh weren't bad enough. "And you're sure that's all he said?"

_"No—something about eyes—lights. He—too fast—couldn't hear—sorry."_

"That's alright," matt said. "Just keep us posted."

_"Should—send—team in?" _

"No," Becker said quickly. "Not until we know what we're dealing with. Make sure the place is locked down. We'll try to find a way out. And try to get a line on Connor."

_"Can do. I'll keep—posted."_

Sighing, Becker sat back on his haunches, leaning against the wall. "Brilliant," he said. "Just bloody brilliant."

"Look on the bright side, mate – it'll be hard-pressed to get any worse."


	3. Chapter 3

There were some phrases that Matt really needed to stay away from. That was one that Becker was going to add to the list. Provided they all lived that long.

Yeah, _all_.

As in, the three of them.

As in, Becker couldn't decide whom he wanted to kill more: Jess, the men that were _supposed_ to be at the door keeping _everyone out_…

Or Connor bloody Temple.

See, Jess _had_ found him. She'd tracked the signal on his comm, and traced it all the way to, as it would happen, Third street. As Becker didn't believe in coincidence and happened to think he had a pretty good grasp of Connor's tendency to stick his nose in things, he would've bet good money that meant that Connor was about to do something incredibly stupid.

He'd immediately commed up to the soldiers at the door to curtail Connor's little misadventure into the snapping jaws of a couple of hungry, incredibly _pissed off_ carnivores.

_"Sir?"_

"I said 'don't let him in'! Do you copy?" And if he sounded a little snappy, it was understandable, seeing as how the young man he presently loved and despised simultaneously was about to get himself killed.

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line, and then, _"I'm sorry sir, but…"_

"But what?" This time, it was Matt, and Becker felt at least a little bit better about his lack of composure when he heard the sharpness of Matt's tone, too.

Becker heard one of the soldiers – Prichard, he thought his name was – clear his throat. _"Sir, he's already inside."_

Pause.

Process.

"Shit!"

Becker and Matt exchanged similar looks of alarm, before Becker put his hand to his earpiece. It was hard to hear over the constant chatter going outside. All the little creatures wanting to kill them were making it awfully hard to hear.

"Connor? Connor, are you there?"

No answer.

"Damn it, Temple, if you don't answer me—"

_"I'm here, I'm here. Bloody hell, Becker, you sound like me mother." _

"I doubt his mother would've threatened to shoot him," Matt said under his breath.

_"You've never met her." _

No, Becker hadn't. Neither had Matt, for that matter, but in the grand scheme of "Things of any Import" that seemed pretty low, all things considered. "Connor, where are you?"

He could almost _hear_ Connor pull that little guilty smile and wince of his. _"Don't be angry,"_ he said, _"but I'm sort of in the pub…"_

"Yeah, Connor, I sort of figured that. _Where_ in the pub are you?"

_"At the bottom of the stairs, almost in the basement."_

Double shit.

"Connor! Get back up the stairs. Now!"

_"No, but I need to give you something. It's important!"_

"I don't care! Get up the fucking stairs!"

_"Becker, what's going on? Is everything alright?" _

"No, it's not bloody alright! You've walked into a trap; the place is infested! Now get back up the stairs before—"

Matt's hand on his shoulder cut him short mid-rant, and he turned to see the other man holding a finger to his lips.

"Listen," Matt mouthed out, and Becker did. He listened.

He listened harder.

"I don't hear—" And then it hit him. He didn't hear anything. Not a thing.

The clicking had stopped.

His heart stopped in his chest.

"Connor, listen to me," he said, his voice measured and taut. "You need to get out _now_. Go up the stairs, and close the door."

_"I think…"_ Connor swallowed audibly, his voice catching in a way that made the knot in Becker's chest tighten. That was how Connor sounded when he was scared. _"I think it's a little late for that."_

Panic rose in Becker's chest, but he forced it down. He had to stay calm if he wanted to get Connor out of this. "Okay, just take a deep breath. Do you see anything?"

_"Only what's in my torchlight. It's dark."_

"Do you see a door?"

_"Yeah. Over to the right. Behind a couple of…kegs, I think. It's closed, but I—"_

"It's fine; it's where I am. Can you make it?"

_"I…I dunno. I think so. They're all 'round the other side. If I sprint…"_

"You have to. On the count of three, alright?"

_"Becker, I—"_

"One…"

_"You should know that—"_

"Two…"

_"Please, Becker, I—"_

"Three!"

Matt threw the door open to a cacophony of screeching clicks, and Becker started forward with his gun just in time to catch Connor about the waist as he came tearing in. Matt slammed the door after, and a couple of thuds sounded from behind it.

Only Connor'd gotten in.

Heart still pounding, Becker held Connor at arm's length and looked him over. No blood. Nothing he could see, other than a panicked sort of look to his face and the occasional tremble.

The knot released, and Becker pulled Connor into as tight a hug as he dared, Connor being slight as he was. "You idiot," he said, but they both knew he didn't mean it. "You could've gotten yourself killed."

Connor, for his part, took a second to realize what was going on before he relaxed into the firm embrace. "I had it sorted," he said finally. There was no disguising the gratefulness in his voice, though.

Becker felt Connor sigh against his neck, felt a little bit more of the tension ease from him, felt the brush of his stubble against his jaw as his cheeks pulled back in a smile.

"Christ, but that was tense there for a bit," he said.

"Yeah."

Just then, Becker caught Matt looking at him over Connor's shoulder with a devious and knowing smile. How he could muster that up given the conditions, Becker would never know; he certainly didn't appreciate it.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to loosen his hold on Connor enough to let the younger man step back.

"Right, well, now that we're all stuck down here," Matt said. "Don't suppose you brought us anything helpful in that satchel of yours."

For the first time, Becker looked down and saw the bag hanging from Connor's shoulder. He had said he had to give him something. "What's in there?" he said.

Connor looked down and seemed to remember that he had, in fact, come there for a reason.

"Right," he said. "Right. The bag." He squatted down and started rifling through it. He came up with a flare that he tossed to Becker, then a giant torch that he tossed to Matt.

They both looked at him with matching expressions of confusion.

"Don't get me wrong, mate, I appreciate the sentiment but…I think light's the last of our concerns."

"What?" Connor looked up at him, confusion on his face. "No, this—this is important. _Light_ is important."

"I'm not following," Matt said.

"It's the creatures!" Connor said. He looked like he was getting exasperated, but at the same time he was too worked up and all bundled with nerves to actually get angry.

Luckily, Becker was pretty good at reading between the lines when it came to Connor. "You know what they are, don't you?"

Connor nodded, but there was something about the way he dropped his eyes back to his bag that made Becker think there was more to it. "Yep," he said. It was the clipped sort of sound he gave when he was upset.

Like he said: reading between the lines.

And he wasn't the only one that could, it seemed. "There's something you're not telling us," Matt said.

Connor shook his head. "It's not important."

It didn't sound that way. Furrowing his brows, Becker pushed off the wall he'd taken to leaning against and squatted down next to Connor. "Connor, what is it?"

For a second, Connor stayed quiet, but then, "I know the creatures."

"Right, that's good, then. We know what we're dealing with," Matt said.

Connor glanced up at him, then shook his head and dropped his gaze. "No, I _know _them. Troodons. From the Cretaceous…"

Oh.

_Oh_.

"They were there, weren't they?" Becker said. "In the Cretaceous, when you were trapped."

Connor's eyes stayed fixed on the bag at his lap. "Yeah…yeah, they were. Had a run in with them the first week, nearly got m'self ripped to pieces. Nasty buggers, they are. Smarter than raptors and vicious to boot. Got venom in their teeth that'd take down a two ton Euoplocephalous if they got enough in him. Their eyes shine like that to help 'em see better in the dark."

For Connor's sake, Becker would pretend he didn't hear the tremor in his voice as he spoke. Those things…they scared him something fierce. And yet he'd still come running, trying to help.

He may not have looked it sometimes, but damn if Connor wasn't one of the bravest guys Becker had ever met.

The torch appearing in Connor's gloved hand set his mind back on track. "And the light…?" he said.

"They don't like it. Their eyes are designed for the dark; they're sensitive. Shine a bright enough light in their eyes or light a flare in front of them, they'll give you some space."

"Our torches didn't do much," Matt said.

Connor shook his head. "Not bright enough. You need something like this—" he flicked on the torch in his hand and Becker had to recoil and cover his eyes from it; it was much brighter than his torch, "—to really do the trick."

"Maybe a bit of a warning next time," Becker said, blinking to get the spots out of his eyes. The lights weren't the brightest he'd ever seen, but after being in the relative dark for so long, he might as well have been looking into the sun. His eyes would need a second to adjust.

With a sheepish smile, Connor turned the torch off. "Sorry. That's the general idea, though."

"Blind the little bastards and make our escape?" Matt said, and then he shrugged. "I've heard worse plans. I've also heard better, but I've heard—"

Matt was cut off by the shrillest, most hair-raising shriek Becker had ever heard. It was agony and terror and every worst nightmare he'd ever had all balled into one.

Connor jumped so hard he almost jumped into Becker's lap. As it was, Becker had to drop down onto one knee and grab onto him to keep him from face-planting into his bag. With his hands on him, he could feel him shaking – probably explained how pale he'd gone.

Matt's eyes were wide when Becker glanced over at him. "Don't suppose that was our friends the troodons."

Becker shook his head. The sounds those little bastards made were creepy enough, but that scream was human. Gritting his teeth, he let go of his hold on Connor and stood. "It wasn't one of us."

"Is there someone else in the pub? I didn't see—" This time, it was Connor that stopped short, and it wasn't to the sound of a scream, but to a heavy thud on the other side of the door. He was on his feet before Becker could blink, his torch in his hand like a weapon, and his gun in the other.

Well, at least he'd remembered his gun.

Becker's eyes were drawn back to the door by a soft sound. The rattling of metal. Heavy breathing.

Something was trying to get in.


	4. Chapter 4

It happened too fast.

One second, they'd been sitting safe inside the pantry. The next, the door had blown open and all hell had broken loose.

He'd been right; it hadn't been troodons at the door, but some middle-aged man in a shredded suit and a few pieces of his own. He was past the point of saving; he dropped the moment he got through the door.

And subsequently made room for the wave of venomous min-raptors that had been right behind him.

Becker had been on it as quick as he could. He was closest to the door, and went to close it, only to realize the dead man's body was in the way. The troodons weren't coming all that fast – he'd managed to close the door to as wide as the man's hips, and the creatures were too busy trying to be the first in for one to actually make it through.

That wouldn't last long.

"Move him!" he said. The body was keeping the door open, and he couldn't get at him to move it and keep the door closed at the same time.

Connor was the first on the task. He went to grab the man's ankles and started to drag him in while Matt covered the door, stunning the daylights out of every troodon he could get his sights locked on. It got a mite bit more difficult, though, when the dead man's limp arm happened to knock into the torch. It toppled, and the whole room went pitch dark.

"Got 'im!"

"Shit, one's in!"

"Door's closed!"

The words came too fast to tell which came first. Everything was too dark, too loud. It was chaos. Complete and utter blackness, broken by flashes of dropped torches on the floor and shouts and clicks and breaking glass.

And then it was over. Becker caught sight of a leg in the light of the upended torch and fired a round off. The thing dropped to the floor, and Becker bent to set the light up again so that he could figure out what the bloody hell had just happened.

The small room was immediately bathed in light.

It looked like a bomb had gone off. Bottles had fallen off the shelves and shattered, covering the floor in a thin scattering of liquid and broken glass. Becker did a quick sweep of the place with his eyes.

Creatures?

One.

A threat?

Not anymore.

The troodon that had managed to slip in was on the floor, sprawled out and either unconscious or dead. Either way, it would be down for the count, but just to be safe, Becker dropped down next to it and zip tied its jaws shut and its feet together. Even if it wasn't dead, it wouldn't be causing anymore trouble.

Immediate danger neutralized, Becker stood. "Everyone okay?" he said.

Matt nodded from about the center of the room. He was only just putting his gun down. "I'm alright," he said, and he looked it. Maybe a little shaken,m a little tense, but that was to be expected. He had all his parts so far as Becker could tell, and he didn't see blood, so everything looked alright.

Problem being, it still felt like something was wrong. Beyond being locked in a room with a bunch of prehistoric carnivores waiting outside "wrong"…it was this feeling in the pit of his gut. Something wasn't _right_. Not even by their standards.

"Connor?"

Matt had turned 'round, and Becker followed his gaze to where Connor was, on the far side of the closet opposite the door. He was standing – no, _leaning_ more like, on a shelf behind him. It looked like he'd fallen into it, because bottles had fallen around him. Becker's thought maybe he'd just fallen back from letting go of the man; the momentum might have carried him back into it.

Only, he wasn't straightening up. He wasn't standing; he was leaning back against the shelf, and he wasn't trying to right himself. If anything, he was sliding further down.

That feeling of _wrong_ only got worse when Connor didn't respond. He started towards him, stepping first over the downed troodon and then over the dead man.

"Connor," he said again, more forcefully this time. "Connor, are you okay?"

When Connor looked up, Becker felt his stomach drop. Connor's face was ghastly white; his eyes impossibly wide. And then he held up his hand.

It was covered with red.

"Jesus Christ!" Becker took the last few steps at lightning pace, and good thing he did, because he made it just in time to grab Connor before he fell the rest of the way to the glass-covered floor. "Matt, help me with him."

Matt was quick to take Connor's other side, taking a bit of the weight so that Becker could get a better hold on him.

"We need—we need to get him over there," Becker said, nodding his head over towards the corner of the closet where an old barrel sat. It was the only place they could sit Connor down without putting him down on glass or blood or alcohol.

Connor let out a strangled groan as they started to move him.

"Sorry, mate," matt said.

Becker grimaced in sympathy and empathy. He seemed to recall being in a similar situation with a certain school cantina and a pack of therocephalians. "You're alright…almost there." As they helped Connor onto the barrel, both men had winces on their faces. The movement hurt whatever wound Connor had gotten, and he was nearly in tears. Say what you wanted about him, Connor was a tough little bloke. For him to go on like he was told Becker he was in a world of pain.

As soon as they got him in place, Matt went into medic mode. "I need ye to tell me where you're hurt, 'kay?"

Connor didn't answer, but the way he was holding his leg like he thought it was about to fall off said a lot.

It didn't say enough, though, and Becker gave him a light shake on his shoulder and said a bit more sharply, "Connor, where're you hurt?"

"My leg." The words came out harsh and strained – reedy from the pain and from the fear Becker could see coloring his eyes when he finally managed to raise his eyes. "I think—I think it bit me."

At first, Becker didn't understand the source of panic so evident in Connor's expression. And then he remembered.

_Got venom in their teeth that'd take down a two ton Euoplocephalous if they got enough in him._

"Shit," Becker said. When Matt looked up at him in confusion, he helped Matt along the same revelation he'd had. "The little bastards are venomous."

Connor actually let out a sharp little chuckle at that, his head falling back against the wall and his eyes clenching closed. "So you_ do_ listen to me, then," he said. "Good to know."

"'Course we listen to you," Matt said as he started trying to get a look at Connor's wound. He was holding his left thigh, and that seemed to be where most of the blood was gathering on his jeans. "All the time, don't we, Becker?" Matt flashed Becker a significant glance and mouthed, _Keep him talking. Keep him calm._

Becker nodded, only to remember Connor's eyes were closed. He realized, then, he'd have to actually force some words through the lump that had formed in his throat. "Right," he said. "All the time."

Matt gave Becker a grim smile and went back to getting at the wound. Connor's hands were clenched so tightly around his leg his hands were shaking and his knuckles, through all the red, were bone white. "But for the next few minutes, I'm goin' to need you to listen to me, yeah?"

Connor's teeth gritted; Becker could see the muscle on his jaw working, tensing and releasing, only to tense again. He eventually nodded, though, his breath catching.

"Good man. I need to have a look at you, now, so you have to get your hands out of the way." As he spoke, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pocket knife.

Connor opened his eyes and glanced down; he didn't seem to have realized he'd even been holding onto it, but now that he did, he didn't seem to want to give it up.

Another glance.

Becker steeled himself and reached across Connor to put a hand on his thin wrists. "C'mon, let go," he said firmly, but as kindly as his taut nerves would allow. When Connor didn't move, he thought he'd have to move his hands for him.

Luckily, it didn't come to that. The vice grip loosened, and Connor pulled his hands up just enough to fist in the hem of his shirt. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Matt to get at Connor's jeans with his knife. A couple rips later, and the wound was exposed for all eyes to see.

And what a wound it was.

Becker'd thought his bite was bad. This was worse.

It looked like it'd caught him on the corner; Becker could make out two individual sets of teeth, one on the front, and one on the side of his thigh. For all the blood, he couldn't make out the depth, but he'd seen the teeth on that troodon. A couple inches, maybe, and it hadn't just latched on, it'd torn back a bit. Long, bloody gashes ran along Connor's thigh about a palm's width above his knee, and the area around it was already inflamed.

Connor let out a distressed groan. "Oh, that's bad," he said. "That's really bad."

"I've seen worse," Becker said. He wasn't lying, either.

That didn't do anything to loosen the knot in his chest, though. If anything, it tightened as Matt turned around to the shelves and started looking through them.

"What're you doing?" Connor said, and there was no missing the catch in his voice as Becker turned back around with a bottle of what looked an awful lot like vodka and a thing of salt.

Becker remembered this part, and his stomach turned.

"I've got to clean it out," Matt said, unscrewing the cap to the vodka while he did. He'd sat the salt on the closest shelf, and with his free hand, he held Connor's leg in place. "Deep breath." That was all the warning Matt gave before he tipped the bottle and vodka came pouring onto the wound.

The cry that followed wasn't unexpected, but Becker still flinched. More out of empathy than surprise; he knew what kind of pain Connor was in, and it killed him that there was nothing he could do to help.

It also killed him to know that it would only get worse.

As Matt tipped the bottle a little lower and more liquid came out, Connor finally lost his nerve and tried to jerk his leg back. When that didn't work, courtesy of Matt's hand and the wall right behind him, he tried to grab his leg again.

Becker intercepted his hands before he could, though, barring an arm across his chest. And when Connor turned his grip on Becker, Becker didn't mind, even if he knew he'd have bruises the shape of fingers on his wrist the next morning.

It still wouldn't come close to the pain Connor was feeling.

And it wouldn't come close to the pain of knowing he was feeling it.

"You're alright," Becker said. "You're alright."

Matt glanced up as he sat the vodka bottle aside and picked up the salt. "I'm almost done. Just gotta pack it and wrap it."

What he didn't say was how that step was bound to make the vodka feel like water. Not that it needed saying; Connor figured it out pretty damn quick when Matt poured the salt over the wound and pressed it to with his hand.

Connor didn't scream this time, but only because his teeth were gritted too tight for the sound to escape properly. Muted as it was, though, the sound was worse than anything Becker had ever heard.

Because it was Connor.

"Becker!" Matt's voice snapped him out of his agonized reverie, and he looked up to see the man holding out a blood- and salt-crusted hand. "Bandage!"

It took Becker a moment, but then he remembered the emergency bandage in his vest and quickly prized a hand free to fish it out. It was a mercy his hands weren't shaking; years of training, it seemed, had stood by him even when his nerves had long since fled.

Matt took the bandage and brought it around Connor's leg, wrapping it with deft hands before he pulled it tight with a sharp tug. He paused, gave Connor a second to recover, then, "You can breathe again, mate. I'm done."

Connor gave a weak sort of nod, but it wasn't until Becker put a hand on his shoulder that he actually seemed to let out the breath he'd been holding. It was like his whole body deflated in Becker's arms as Connor sank back against the wall.

"Oi, keep him sitting up," Matt said, but Becker was already on it. Keep the heart above the wound. He knew what to do well enough, and he already had an arm around Connor's shoulder holding him up as he stood half beside him, half behind.

"Get the radio – tell them we need backup _now_," Becker said. The words came automatically, like his brain had shut down and only the training remained. This, and the almost unnatural awareness of the body in his arms. Of the cold of his skin, of the tremors and the tension, of the shaky breaths…

Of the fact that Connor Temple, the man he loved, was dying.


	5. Chapter 5

Becker always had a plan.

It was his job, after all. No matter what situation he was in, what creatures he was facing, what the odds were, or what the obstacles were, he had a plan to get everyone out alive.

He hadn't planned for this.

He hadn't planned to get trapped in a storage closet, hiding from a bunch of troodons. He hadn't expected Connor to come to their rescue and end up getting trapped with them. He hadn't expected some dying man to go Walking Dead on them long enough to let a troodon into their hiding place. And he definitely hadn't expected for Connor to get hurt.

Clearly, his original plan was not equipped to handle the situation. He had to adapt.

And adapt he had. It had taken some doing, but he'd managed to get through to Jess. She had to serve as his link to his men outside; the comms weren't working properly and he wasn't able to get a direct line to them.

After that, it'd been one very hurried, very complex game of telephone. Getting these troops positioned at this exit, those at that one…trying to work out a way for his men to neutralise the troodon threat without risking their lives or allowing for a possible incursion.

But Becker was good at that; it was his element, where he had the edge. Everyone had their parts to play in ARC, and this was his. It was a bit of a relief, really...falling back on the logic and strategy of tactics.

"Okay, Jess...we're counting on you," he said and dropped his hand back to his side. The door was still holding, though it shook and rattled as angry clicks continued behind the door. They were safe, though. Safe, and they had a plan.

"And Jess?" Becker turned to see Matt standing in the corner with Connor, "tell them to hurry."

Because a plan could only do so much.

Becker heard the worry in Matt's voice, more than had been there before, and felt all tension that had ebbed, flow back _en masse_.

He strode quickly over to Connor's other side; Matt was already standing on his left a hand on his forehead and a grim look on his face.

"He's got a fever," Matt said.

"Becker didn't need to test the story; he could tell just by looking at Connor that Matt was right. Connor's cheeks were flushed red, a harsh contrast to the ghostly pale pallor of his skin, and sweat had formed a thin sheen of sweat on his knotted brow.

Becker felt that familiar twinge of panic in his chest. Connor was getting worse, and fast. "Connor?" he said, putting a hand on Connor's shoulder and giving him a light shake. He didn't want to jar him too much, not with that grimace on his face that got Becker to thinking he was hurting in more places than just his leg.

The soft groan that broke from Connor's lips was both a blessing and a curse: a blessing in that Becker was relieved he was still awake, but a curse in that it meant he was, in fact, in pain.

Dark lids peeled open to reveal a pair of fever-bright eyes as Connor's quick, shallow breaths caught.

"Oi, Connor, you need to stay awake, you understand?" Matt said.

Connor nodded, only to wince. He started to push himself up – he'd slid down a bit over the past few minutes or so, and the position wasn't doing his neck any favours – only to stop short and let out a miserable sort of groan. His lips pulled thin in a grimace, and he went stock stiff.

"Connor? What's wrong?" Becker said. It seemed like it would've been obvious, what with his leg wound and all, but...

It wasn't Connor's leg he was holding.

No, Connor's hands had curled around his chest, his fingers digging into his arms like it was his chest that was hurting. Coupling that with the short breaths and the increasingly blue tint to his lips and it made Becker think that the venom was spreading. It'd been about ten minutes since he'd been bitten, and for the venom to be working that quickly did not bode well. Matt had been right to tell Jess to hurry.

"That hurt," Connor said through gritted teeth. "Why did that hurt?"

"Why did what hurt?" Matt sounded calm, but one look at him and Becker could tell he was thinking the same thing Becker had.

Connor's face pulled tighter as he tried to shift again. Trying to get comfortable, Becker realized, only it didn't seem to be working for him. "Everything. Everything hurts. Feels—" Shift. Wince. "Feels like my bones are breaking."

The worst of it was that he wasn't being dramatic. Becker remembered all too well the pressure in every joint, every bone, every muscle, like everything was pulling so tight it felt like it would snap.

_It's the venom_, Matt mouthed out. Seemed he understood as well as Becker did that telling Connor wouldn't do any good. If anything, it would only upset the younger man, and he'd already had enough trauma without having anything else frighten him. He needed comfort, not another problem.

So, instead, as Connor tried to shift again, he slipped in beside him, between the barrel and the shelf next to it, and shifted Connor so that he could pull him back against his chest. He could feel him shivering as he did, and folded his arms across Connor's chest firm enough for support and hopefully some warmth, but not so firm as to hinder his already-troubled breathing.

Matt raised an eyebrow, but Becker ignored him. What he had to say didn't matter. He was watching the love of his life, the one he'd only just gotten back, suffer and die; he was done playing at stoic.

"You're alright," he said, his jaw clenching of its own accord as he fought to keep his hold on his composure. He had to stay calm for Connor. "Help's short in coming; you'll be alright."

Again, he caught Matt's eye. This time, though, he was met with only a sad sort of smile and a nod. Connor wasn't the only one suffering, and Matt knew that. He also knew that there was nothing more he could do, and so he turned, walking to the far end of the closet and putting his hand to the comm on his ear. He was trying to get a hold of Jess, but Becker knew it was just a front for what he was really doing: giving Becker space, giving him the chance to say whatever he felt he needed to say to Connor and Connor alone.

Becker didn't want to think, though, just what he was meant to be saying. He certainly wouldn't be saying _goodbye_.

So, he said something else.

"You still awake?"

"Nope," Connor said.

At least his humour was still more or less intact.

For a long moment, there was silence, Connor taking shaky breath after shaky breath, and Becker wincing as each came harder than the last. He tucked his chin to Connor's shaggy hair and pursed his lips, feeling every tremor that ran through the body in his arms. Christ, how long he'd waited to hold Connor like this.

No, not like this. It was never meant to be like this.

"Becker?"

Becker cleared his throat of the lump that had risen in it. "Yeah?"

A deep breath, or at least a try at one. "'s kinda funny, if y' think about it."

"What is?"

Connor let out a weak chuckle that could've just as easily have been a cough if Becker hadn't known better. "Survived a year in the Cretaceous...loads of wicked beasties wanting to eat me. Come back, now I'm goin' to die in the basement of a pub 'cause I got nipped by half a velociraptor."

Becker's arms tightened subconsciously – still not enough to hurt him, but Becker was afraid...he could feel Connor slipping away, and he couldn't lose him. Not again.

"You're not going to die," Becker said, and he believed it. He had to, because the thought of the alternative was impossible to bear. "Just wait a few minutes longer; they'll get here. Give those bloody troodons more than a nipping."

But Connor went on as if he hadn't heard him. "Worth it, though," he said. "Dyin' here's better than dying there any day of the week."

"Connor..."

"Least this way, I got to see you again. That's something." He nodded, or maybe his head was just lolling; Becker couldn't tell. "Worth it."

Much as he wanted to hear that Connor was happy he'd seen him, Becker couldn't bear to let the thought hang. "Connor, listen to me: You. Are. Not. Going. To. Die. I'm not going to let that happen, and you want to know why?"

He felt more than heard Connor's ascent.

"Three reasons. One, because I'm a stubborn son of a bitch, and I'm not ready to call it quits just now. Two, I did not spend a year searching for you, mourning you, and praying to gods that I don't even believe in to find you again, just to have you die before I can tell you the real reason for all of it."

"But that's only..." It seemed to don on Connor, and with a fair nick of trouble, he shifted enough to turn his head and look at Becker. Becker, in turn, made it easier for him by moving more directly into his line of sight. "What's the—" He took a breath, licked his lips. "What's the real—"

This time, it wasn't a lack of air that cut Connor's question short. This time, it was Becker's lips on his, his hand caressing his flushed cheek, his hazel eyes boring into Connor's brown ones when he finally leaned back.

"Three," Becker said, his voice somehow audible over the pounding of his heart in his ears, "I love you, Connor Temple."

Connor looked dumbstruck. Becker realized this probably wasn't the proper time for this, not while Connor's head was all out of sorts with the fever and possibly the beginnings of shock. But Connor needed to know, and Becker needed _him_ to know. He needed to understand that Becker had never stopped caring for him, even over that year.

It took a couple heart-stopping seconds, but finally, Connor finally seemed to process just what it was Becker was telling him.

"Right," he said after a long moment, as finite a nod as he seemed to be able to muster. "Right, okay. No dyin', then." A weak smile crept onto his face. "But only 'cause it's you askin'..._Action Man_."

Becker actually managed a smile at that, as he shifted back to accommodate Connor's head as it leaned back on his shoulder. "Good boy," he said, wrapping his arms back around the shivering, sheet pale form in his arms. He pressed a quick kiss to one flushed cheek then turned his gaze forward again.

He caught Matt looking at him, a half smile on his face. Becker'd done what he'd been telling him to do since Connor came back – he'd told him he loved him, and in his own quirky sort of way, Connor had said it back. Any other day, he'd have been throwing him a party.

But this wasn't any other day. This day, Connor had been bitten by a troodon trying to save their lives. This day, Connor was dying in his arms. So while half of Matt was happy for his friend, the other knew he was in pain like he thought he'd never have to feel again once Connor came back.

Becker blinked a few times. Grit his teeth. His eyes burned furiously, and it was the sign of just how true a friend Matt really was that he turned...

Just before a single tear slipped from Becker's eye.


	6. Chapter 6

"Jess, what's the ETA? Where the bloody hell are our reinforcements?"

_"Five, ten minutes tops. I'm sorry, Matt; they're on their way. Coming quick as they can."_ There was a pause on the other end of the line, but then, _"How is Connor?" _

Matt, clearly not sure how to answer the question, turned back to Becker.

The soldier had heard the whole thing, and his face was set hard. His eyes were still red.

"He's holding on," Becker said. And he was, but he was getting worse. Going on twenty minutes now, since he'd been bitten, and he'd started fading in and out of consciousness. Becker was having a hard time keeping him awake now, giving him a light nudge whenever he felt his head start to loll. He'd start awake, maybe with a gasp of surprise, maybe with a gasp of pain, but it never failed that no more than a minute later, he'd be fading out again.

He was actually just getting ready to give him another shake when all the sudden, Connor tensed. At first, Becker thought the pain had spiked; it'd done that before, too. But then Connor started trying to get up, and when he couldn't, he let out a distressed sort of sound.

"What's wrong?" Becker said. Connor didn't reply, though, and instead gave another go at getting up. Becker held him in place, though, keeping him sitting on the barrel even as he apparently worked to stand. "Connor, what're you trying to do?"

"The door," Connor said, his voice equal parts plaintive and alarmed. There was something about it, though…something in the sluggishness of his movements, in the slur of his voice that got Becker to thinking something was up. He wasn't just trying to get comfortable; he was trying to get up, and Becker wanted to know why.

"What about it?" Becker didn't understand, and as Connor's efforts became more insistent, more agitated, Becker got more confused. That, in turn, agitated _Becker_.

"We have to—" He tried to pull Becker's arms from around him, and Becker ended up loosing his arms from around him just to grab his hands. "We have to close it! Becker!"

Becker's confusion grew with his alarm as Connor started actually fighting him. He was weak; he didn't accomplish much in doing it, but he was twisting and writhing as best he could in Becker's hold.

"Connor, calm down!" Becker said.

The commotion drew Matt's attention, and he came quickly over. "What's going on?"

"They'll get in," Connor said, his voice cracking as desperate tears wept from his bloodshot eyes. "We have to—we have to close it!"

Becker pulled Connor closer, crossing his arms over his chest and holding them in an arm bar. He was trying hard not to hurt him, but at the same time, he had to keep him in place. "It's closed," he said. "It's alright, Connor, they're not getting in. Nothing's going to get in." And when Connor's struggles didn't let up, he turned to Matt. "What's happening?"

Matt didn't answer immediately. Instead, he grabbed hold of Connor's chin, tipping his head up and peering into his eyes. He pulled out a penlight and flashed it in his eyes, and Becker felt Connor recoil against his chest. Connor was trying to get his head turned away from Matt's prodding, as the older man pressed a hand to his brow.

"He's hallucinating," Matt said.

That…wasn't what Becker wanted to hear. "What from? The venom?"

"Or the fever," said Matt. "There's no telling, and I don't reckon there's much I can do. Just keep him calm, keep him still. The less his blood gets pumping, the better. You hear me, Connor? You're hallucinating. That door over there's solid as anything; nothing's coming through."

Becker didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned when Matt stepped back and Connor didn't move. It was like he was trying to process what Matt had told him. Like he couldn't believe what he was seeing _or_ what he was being told and was trying to make sense of it all.

"But I—look at it," he said. He sounded so pitiful, so lost, so scared, and Becker couldn't be sure how much of the shaking now was from the shock and how much was from the fear that something could be coming at him any second.

There was nothing Becker could do to make the hallucinations stop. He couldn't change what Connor was seeing, and he couldn't change the fact that Connor was seeing it. So, he did the only thing that he could do.

He held him, let him know he was there. "Easy," he said. "I've got you. There's nothing to be afraid of, Conn…I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

Connor still didn't quite settle, though. "Becker…"

"Shh, Connor." Becker slipped one of his hands around Connor's smaller one, giving it a reassuring squeeze as his own heart skipped. He'd forgotten what it felt like to hold those hands in his, those slender, graceful fingers twined in his own calloused ones. "Do you trust me?"

There was a hesitation, but then, a nod. Tentative, it was, and shaky, but a nod was a nod.

"Then trust me," he said. "No matter what happens, I'm going to keep you safe."

Words couldn't describe Becker's relief when he felt some of the tension leave Connor's shoulders, and after a second, Connor sniffled. "Promise?" He sounded timid, unsure, still scared…but there was something there that hadn't been there just moments before. A try at levity.

A try at hope.

In response, Becker lifted Connor's hand to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to it. "Promise," he said.

Silence fell in the room after that. Minutes passed, each one its own eternity as far as Becker was concerned. He was going to have to teach his men what it meant to be proper reinforcements when he got out of this.

He'd only just thought that, though, when all sorts of commotion broke out behind the door. Flashes of light, harsh clicks, screeches. Things rattled on the door so violently Becker went for his gun on the odd chance it _did_ give in.

Matt did the same, too, his gun levelled at the door just in case.

Connor, for his part, couldn't do all that much. Both his hands were still caught, one kept tightly in Becker's, and the other tucked under the other, hugging his chest. His breaths came too quick; his eyes were too wide.

"Remember what I told you," Becker said, his eyes never once leaving the door. "No matter what comes through that door, I've got you."

"Right." Connor's voice was weak, pitched high and too breathless. His hand had gone cold in Becker's.

And then he heard it.

"All clear."

The voice came from outside the door, and sure enough, all the chaos had ended. The cacophony of sounds had died down until only a soft knocking remained.

"Captain?"

Both Matt and Becker shared a look. Matt was the first to recover, saying, "We're in here!" He was closest to the door, too, so he was the one to pull it open.

Becker had never been so glad to see the familiar uniforms of his fellow ARC soldiers before in his life. The relief was nearly enough to make him lightheaded, only they weren't out of the woods yet. "Get a medic," he said. When none of his soldiers moved, he said it again, louder and sharper. "I said get a fucking medic!"

That did the trick, and one of the men closest in the back turned tail and started back out.

Orders given, Becker turned his attention back to the man in his arms. "C'mon, let's get you topside, yeah?" he said. He started to shift Connor around, only to freeze. Connor's hand had gone limp in his hand, and the rest of him was like a rag doll.

Heart leaping into his chest, Becker moved around so he could see Connor's face. He kept an arm cradled around Connor's shoulders to hold him up. He saw closed eyes, a pale face, blue-tinged lips...

Connor was _unconscious_.

"Connor?" He slipped his hand from Connor's cold fingers to slap him lightly on the cheek. No response. "C'mon, Connor, wake up. Wake up!"

A hand fell on his shoulder. "Medic's upstairs, mate. We need to hurry," Matt said.

He was right, and Becker knew well enough. Forcing the panic back, he gave a curt nod and without any further ado, he hooked an arm under Connor's knees and lifted him bridal style into his arms. The soldiers were wise enough to make a path as he carried him quickly and carefully as he could out of the storage closet and up the stairs.

The light assaulted Becker's eyes as soon as he went topside, but he ignored it. He could see well enough to see the back of the van where the medics had set up. They already had a stretcher out the back and a whole set-up inside it waiting, and Becker sent Jess a silent thank you.

"Put him here," said the medic as soon as he arrived. Becker prided himself on his knowledge of every face in ARC – part of his job – but at that moment, he couldn't be arsed to remembered his name. All he knew was that he was the guy that could help Connor, and that was all that mattered.

He laid Connor out on the stretcher, wincing as he went without resistance. He'd have been pitching a right fit if he'd been conscious; Connor hated doctors of any sort.

But he wasn't conscious. So far as Becker knew, he wasn't even _breathing_.

"We'll take it from here," the medic said, and together, he and the other man inside the van got the stretcher loaded up.

Becker wanted nothing more than to climb in the back with them, but...this was his job. He couldn't do anything for Connor; he could take care of things here. He turned just as the medics pulled the first door closed, only to find Matt standing just behind him.

"Go with them," Matt said.

Becker shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No," he said. "I need to be—"

"You need to be with him." Matt nodded towards the back of the van. "We can take care of things here. Now, go, before they get going."

Indecision plagued Becker for all of a second, glancing between the chaos at the pub and the van.

"You've got it, then?" he said.

Matt's only reply was to shove Becker towards the van. It was all the reply Becker needed, anyhow.

Turning on his heel, he jogged back up to the van. "Hang on," he said, grabbing the last door just before the medic closed it. "I'm coming with you."

Wisely, the medic didn't say anything. He just nodded, and Becker climbed inside.

The door slammed behind him, and the van took off.


	7. Chapter 7

The heart monitor was the worst.

Becker didn't know what it was: something about the steady, monotonous beep, about the pulse-pounding silence between each one…about the niggling, irrational panic that the next one _wouldn't come…_

He was starting to think he'd discovered a viable alternative to Chinese Water Torture. So long as one didn't mind the cruel and unusual, that was, because it didn't get much more cruel and unusual than this.

This. That is to say, what Becker was doing. What he'd _been_ doing for the past – he checked his watch – five hours. Sitting. Waiting. Watching.

Listening…to that same infernal beeping.

It would've been unbearable, that beeping, but it had a single saving grace, something that made it worth all its individual torments:

It meant _he_ was still alive.

See, attached to the Beeping Box from Hell were some wires – a lot of wires, actually – and attached to those lots of wires was a certain individual in whose continued heartbeat Becker had a particularly pressing interest.

Which explained why he hadn't managed to tear his eyes away from the occupant of that bed for the past hour. He'd been staring so long his eyes hurt, and still, he just sat in the hard plastic chair of the ARC infirmary and kept on staring.

Lying in the infirmary bed just in front of him was Connor. His eyes were closed; he was unconscious. Sleeping, the medics had said, only he didn't look like he was sleeping. Not to Becker.

When Connor slept, he wasn't still. Connor was a tosser, a turner, a snuggler to the core, and if he didn't have a warm body to curl into, he'd bunch up the blankets and twist himself into them so thoroughly, Becker had seriously considered putting a knife in the bedside drawer on the off chance he needed to cut him out.

When Connor was sleeping, he wasn't pale as a ghost under industrial white blankets and industrial white lights. His cheeks weren't flushed with a fever that seemed to leech all the heat from his cold fingers.

When Connor was sleeping, he wasn't attached to monitors that beeped his heart rate or IV bags that fed him fluids and supplements to the anti-venom Matt and Abby had cooked up from samples of the troodons' venom.

When Connor was sleeping, his left leg wasn't propped up on a pillow, the blankets pulled away to reveal bare thigh and a white bandage that stretched the length of Becker's hand up and down and concealed gnarly wounds from the bite of a creature that didn't even belong to their time.

When Connor was sleeping, Becker watched the rise and fall of Connor's chest because it soothed him…not because he needed it to remind him that Connor was still alive.

No, this wasn't sleeping.

No…no, this _wasn't_ sleeping.

_Connor_ wasn't sleeping.

He was waking up.

Becker was on his feet before the heart monitor could squeeze out its neat mechanical beep. They were coming faster, now, Becker realized, the beeps were. He was no doctor, but he figured that was another point to the "coming 'round" team. The soft groan and the little slits of chocolate brown iris he caught a few seconds later seemed to clench the victory in consciousness's favour.

As those puppy dog eyes he'd come to love so much finally peeled the rest of the way open, Becker couldn't help smiling. Carefully, mindful of the IV line, he took Connor's smaller hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Hey," he said, his voice thick with too many emotions to name, all in such intensity it was a wonder he'd even managed to speak at all.

They only intensified as a small smile to mirror Becker's own pulled at Connor's cracked lips. "Hey." It was weak, raspy, but Becker guessed intubation and hours of disuse was bound to do that to a person. It was infinitely better than the silence or the beeper, though he'd see about getting him some water in a bit.

Not just yet, though. He wouldn't leave him just yet.

His mind was stopped short in its wandering when Connor started to stir a little more. Looking around with those bleary chocolate eyes, confusion mounting, his brows pulling in...Becker knew what was coming. As soon as Connor figured out where he was, things would get more complicated. Connor did hate hospitals, and he'd experienced firsthand the plight of trying to keep him _anywhere_ he didn't want to be, much less hospitals.

He considered pointing out that it wasn't _technically_ a hospital, but he didn't think the distinction would be much appreciated.

Ever the tactician, Becker thought it best to curtail that particular conversation for as long as possible. At least until Connor had come around enough to understand Becker when he explained everything. A distraction, then, was in order.

Maybe not just for Connor, either. His vision was starting to feel startlingly blurry; his throat, alarmingly thick.

"Have a nice nap?" he said, a hint of a chuckle rumbling his chest that came without his forcing it. The smile on his face was real, too.

Problem being, so was the moisture he felt welling in his eyes. He swallowed thickly, sniffing and giving his eyes a quick rub that, with any luck, would pass off as fatigue.

Connor furrowed his brows. "Are you..." He paused, cocked his head a little to the side. Becker could tell what he wanted to ask and was waiting for him to ask it, but at the last second, he seemed to reconsider, his eyes dragging down to the bandage on Becker's upper arm. "Are you okay?"

Becker followed his eyes to the bandage and shrugged. "Just a scratch," he said. "Must've caught it on some glass, but it's nothing. I'd forgotten about it, honestly."

That actually got a snort out of Connor, though it lacked a lot of the usual pep. It was a start. "Course you had," Connor said.

"Oi, what's that supposed to mean?" Becker tried his best to look indignant. As far as distractions went, this wouldn't have been his method of choice, but he liked to think he was the practical sort. If the opportunity presented itself...

"You know," Connor said, his brows knotting. He wasn't generally quick on the cover-ups normally; the painkillers in his system were making the already-difficult the next-to-impossible. "Tough guy...Action Man. No pain, no gain, that sort of thing."

Becker chuckled at that. Of course...Connor and his hero worship. Always making more of Becker than he really was. Generally, it was good for the ego. Just now, though, it only served to remind him of how badly he'd nearly let him down. How much he'd nearly lost.

"Not so tough as you might think," he said under his breath.

Connor let out a huff and started to push himself up, only to wince and sigh in frustration. "Tougher than me." He tried to sit up again, only this time Becker stopped him with a hand on his chest, holding him back to the cot. "Bloody hell, that hurts."

"Then maybe you should stop fidgeting, yeah?" Becker said, an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe." And mercifully, Connor relaxed back into the bed. Or, as relaxed as he could manage, given how sore he seemed to be. The medic had said he might be – a happy little add-on from the venom: the tissue damage wasn't permanent or severe, but he'd be a sore little bugger for a week or so yet – and that the pain meds would keep the pain down to a dull roar, but it couldn't numb it altogether.

"I don't buy it, though," Connor said after a moment, a little bit absently, a little bit thoughtfully. Like the filter between his brain and mouth was gone and he was just saying what popped into his head.

More so than usual, that was.

Seeing Becker's confusion, Connor elaborated. "That you didn't notice, I mean. Who doesn't notice his arm's bleeding?"

"I had more important things to worry about."

"But what's so important you don't notice you're all cut up?"

Becker wasn't even going to justify that with a response. Instead, he looked at Connor _very_ pointedly.

Drugs or no drugs, though, Connor wasn't stupid. "Oh," he said. "_Oh_." He blinked a few times, and Becker watched as everything started to click into place. "So then, I wasn't...I wasn't _imagining_ it when you...and I...I was actually..."

Connor paled, and Becker didn't have a chance to do much of anything before he popped up like a loaded spring, nearly beaming Becker in the nose in the process. He was going for his leg, but Becker _did_ manage to catch him before he could get his hands on the bandages. "Easy, easy," he said, propping his hip on the side of the bed and sliding an arm around Connor's back. He pulled him against his chest, pinning Connor's arms up against his own chest in the half-embrace, half-restraint. "You're alright."

"But I was—troodons, and one bit me leg," Connor said, his voice clearer than before and pitched with panic that was a little too reminiscent of earlier that day. "I thought...I thought I was going to die."

Frowning, both at the memory and at Connor's new distress, Becker pulled Connor a little closer, rubbing his arms reassuringly. "I told you I wouldn't let that happen," he said. "You're okay. Tested venom-free and stitched up good as new."

He felt Connor shift in his arms, but to Becker's relief it seemed to be more to get comfortable than to get loose. He was settling again, leaning back into Becker's chest. "Is it bad?" he said after a long moment. There was trepidation in his voice...anxiety.

Becker figured Connor was going to see it eventually; he might as well be honest with him, now. "It's pretty wicked," he said. "I've seen cleaner, but I've seen nastier, too. No way you're getting out of it with a scar, but the medic said it's not going to impact your mobility, and it won't be anything disfiguring."

Connor let out a chuckle that sounded to Becker a little too much like a sob. Too much hysteria, not enough mirth. "Still fancy me now I'm not so pretty?" he said, his voice catching. He was making a sporting go at levity, so Becker wasn't going to ruin it for him.

Instead, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to Connor's lightly-stubbled cheek. "I'd fancy you if the thing had taken your whole damn leg off," he said.

"Well, yeah, but then I'd have the pirate thing going for me, yeah?" Connor craned his neck on Becker's shoulder so that he could see his face properly. "Get m'self a peg leg and an eye patch."

"I'd even buy you a parrot."

"Bloody hell, you're all heart, aren't you?" He sounded sarcastic, but the smile that had managed to find its way back onto Connor's still-pale face was in earnest.

"Don't tell my men; I'll never hear the end of it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Connor said, and as he relaxed into Becker's chest and let out a sight, Becker thought that was it. But then he took in a breath as deep as the sigh started trying to wiggle his way closer to being upright.

Becker didn't stop him, but he didn't help him, either. It wasn't like he was going to hurt himself just sitting up, but Becker still wasn't sure he needed to get up just yet. "Connor, what are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Connor said a little crossly.

Becker was unperturbed. "I honestly couldn't tell."

"You're a riot." He scowled, and Becker wondered if he realized how much it made him look like a puppy. Not so intimidating, more...cute.

"Seriously, though, what are you trying to do?"

"I'm going home," Connor said, slipping out of Becker's arms and getting ready to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Becker stopped him. "Hold on," he said.

Connor's scowl deepened. "If you're not going to help, don't keep makin' it harder."

Holding up his hands apologetically, Becker stood from the bed. "Hang on," he said. "I'll help." Connor's face relaxed a little bit, but Becker wasn't done. "But—" he held out a hand as Connor started moving again, "—at least let me find you some trousers first."

For the first time, it seemed to occur to Connor that he wasn't wearing anything but his rubber ducky boxers and a white t-shirt. Cue the furious blush that started from his cheeks and went all the way to the tops of his ears.

"Wha—My—But I was—"

"About that...the medics had to get at your leg." He couldn't help the smile that spread on his face at the aghast expression on Connor's. "Needless to say, your trousers didn't survive the encounter."

"But—but...those were me favourite trousers."

At first, Becker thought he was being fun, but then he noticed Connor looked genuinely upset. He actually saw tears welling in his eyes.

Alarms went off in Becker's head. He knew from experience that this particular scenario required immediate pre-emptive action if he wanted to avoid catastrophe.

"Hey," he said, cupping Connor's cheek in one of his hands and tipping his chin up. "Better the trousers than you, yeah?"

Becker nearly let out an incredulous chuckle when Connor actually seemed to think about it. They must have been bloody good trousers...

Finally, though, Connor nodded. "Right," he said, nodding and sniffling as his lips pulled up in a smile that showcased his two front most teeth in that inexplicably adorable, entirely _Connor_ expression. "Yeah. What's a pair of trousers to a near-death experience?"

Becker considered briefly telling Connor precisely what a pair of trousers were to a near death experience – he'd seen the shreds of denim himself – but figured Connor probably wouldn't want to hear the unfortunate fate of his favourite pair.

Turning, he walked over to the table in the corner of the room and grabbed the stack of clothes there before he came back to Connor. "It's not exactly your...style, but it's all I could get hold of."

Connor took the black fatigues Becker had handed him, took one look at them, and then smiled. "They're yours," he said.

"Got it in one. Why?"

But Connor just shook his head. "No reason," he said. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"Not just for the trousers, I mean. For everything. For savin' me...for staying."

There was something so sincere about Connor's gratitude...maybe his eyes, maybe his voice, or maybe just his character...Becker smiled and closed the short distance between himself and Connor, sliding a hand around the back of his neck to rest at the nape of it. This time when he kissed him, it wasn't stolen, it wasn't quick, it wasn't desperate or despairing. It was warm and real.

It was love.

And even when he broke the kiss, he lingered, listening to the sound of Connor's breath and revelling in the soft smile on his still-parted lips.

"I always will."


End file.
